I Speak Chinese

My internship allowed me to do something a little out of the norm today—it allowed me to practice my Chinese.

“What?!??” cries one group of readers, “you speak Chinese?!??”

“What?!??” cries another, “After all this time spent learning, you don’t practice regularly?!??”

I learned Chinese by accident in a way.

When I switched to attending a private school in 7^th grade, I had to choose which language I was to study for two years. I immediately eliminated Latin because I wanted a vibrant, living language and frankly it seemed a little pretentious. I then eliminated Advanced Beginning Spanish because I was a true beginner and did not want to start already playing catch up. Then it was between French and Chinese and it was very difficult to decide. I had taken some French in elementary school and hadn’t been particularly fond of it, but in hindsight that is likely because I attended class two days a week at 8 am before my day of reading, being teacher’s pet, and hardcore dodgeball began.

So Chinese is what was left. And it kind of made sense—I wanted to talk to people, and there are a lot of Chinese speakers in the world. Also, my grandparents grew up in Korea, learning Chinese characters so taking Chinese classes allowed for an additional way to communicate with my quiet maternal grandparents. So I took Chinese. And not just for two years, but for eight. And each year brought new internal conflicts and the temptation of quitting.

Learning Chinese is a lot like slogging through bubble gum while harnessed to a bungee cord upon which a whole team of dragon dancers tugs. It’s sticky, non-linear, and requires a lot of backpedaling and emotional negotiating.

But I am so proud of myself for continuing to learn the tricky language. Learning Chinese has inspired me to communicate with many diverse people, explore a pretty awesome ancient culture, read fortune cookies and impress hosts at Chinese restaurants, and most of all, travel to China for my junior year of high school.

I now love speaking and listening to Chinese, eavesdropping on escalators, ordering at restaurants, talking to our family friends, and meeting people who are from/have lived in China. Like today at work when I was able to discuss the implications of the current chaos in Mali with a military official who only speaks Russian and Chinese. I find that even now after I’ve been unable to take classes for two years and a full three and a half years since I was in Beijing, some words come easier in Chinese than in English. Certain phrases only pass through my mind in Chinese, such as “how do you say,” “whatever you’d like” and “oh my god!” And as I grin and converse with Chinese nationals, or show off and order dumplings in the native Chinese way, or as I wake up from a dream narrated in the language I used to despise so much, I know that the struggle was worth it.

I speak Chinese. And you know what, that’s pretty cool.

A Brief Introduction to my Internship

            I have the go-ahead to tell you about my internship!! So here goes my attempt at a summary:

I’m working at the Near East and South Asia Center for Strategic Studies this semester as an Outreach Assistant for the Communications Office. As I understand it, NESA is a Department of Defense funded organization that has the two primary roles of housing experts on relevant regions and issues and holding seminars that bring together officials from the NESA region of the world to talk about topical issues. For example, we are nearing the end of a two-week long seminar on combating transnational threats that has attracted 52 foreign officials who have been invited by their various embassies.

            I specifically intern for the Communications office, meaning my current responsibilities include documenting the seminar via photos and written summaries. I sit in on the lectures and take notes for my own research and for synopses distributed on the website. Then, during coffee breaks, off-site visits, and free moments, I take pictures of the participants looking studious, interacting with NESA staff and lecturers, and connecting with one another.

            To be honest, it was kind of uncomfortable in the beginning. Here I am, a 20-year old girl bouncing around with my Cannon, the loud shutter sound echoing and flash attachment blinding. Some of the staff have nicknames for me when I’m in photo-mode, “photo fairy,” “the paparazzi,” and “the entourage” are just a few. But what I most feel like is a hunter. (A non-violent, non-threatening, slightly frazzled one, but a hunter nonetheless.) I look around, constantly trying to spot the best grouping of participants, walk softly to avoid attracting attention, lift the clunky camera, and go for the shot.

            Almost all 52 participants seem to love the camera. They request posed pictures in different locations around the office—“like I was the speaker”, “in front of this flag”, “now in front of this one”, “with the view of the river”, etc. Sometimes they even photobomb each other, acting like long-standing friends.

            And that brings me to my favorite part of my job. Every day, I get to interact with people I would never get a chance to meet otherwise—whether they are NESA staff members that are working on The Day After Project in Syria or a Major General from Bangladesh. I get to laugh with them as they pose theatrically for the camera, learn about their countries informally, collect business cards in Arabic, Russian, and Farsi, and be invited to three different countries a day.

            I am continuously surprised by how relaxed the participants are willing to be around me. They are superior in almost all quantifiable ways—age, education, rank, experience—yet there’s little stuffiness, stilted conversations, or put downs. So, after 1-2 hour lectures that leave my head spinning with long mental scrolls of things to research and presumably leave them with a paradigm shift in views towards the US government, we interact as if I were also a participant, laughing and talking about the lectures, the city, and the world.

            And in between conversations and tourism tips about Jordan, Uzbekistan, Armenia, and Lebanon, I hunt for picture-perfect moments for them to cherish upon returning home.

Had a Ball at the Ball—The One in Which My Mom Plays Fairy Godmother

            For those of you who may not be aware, or may just not care, President Barack Obama was sworn-in for his second term yesterday morning (1/22/13). It was also Martin Luther King Day, so a three day weekend, and the cause of an absolute clustermess downtown.

As a result, the entire weekend was filled with various inauguration events, including service opportunities, many tours, motorcade chases (these are probably unsanctioned), and of course, balls and galas. And while President Obama declared there will be only two official inaugural balls (to save on money and military personnel hours), there were still lots of unofficial galas and parties. And on Friday, I was invited to one!

Gabriel, one of the students from the Georgetown Program, is working at the US-Mexico Chamber of Commerce this semester and was offered tickets to the Fiesta Americana ball they co-hosted. At shortly before 3pm on Friday, he very kindly invited me along with two other students. Would I like to go? YES!!! But what will I wear…?!? And so began a two-hour long dash around northwest DC. To the stores in Georgetown, BCBG—flat out, Karen Miller—nothing below the knee, Max Studio—gorgeous dress in black, but too expensive. Okay, onwards to Friendship Heights.

Quick call to my mom while on the bus. “I’m going to a ball!” I squee excitedly. “But help, what do I wear? Do you have anything in a six that will be long enough for me? Jewelry? How will I fit in? I don’t speak Spanish!” Feel my heart racing double-time, and try and calm down on the ride over. Finally after a few more stores, mom meets me and we find a beautiful purple strapless gown at Lord and Taylor in the return to rack section. L&T comes through again, thanks to my mom. Why don’t I ever learn to just look there first?

So we race to pay for it. Oh, and stop for a makeup session at the Bobbi Brown station on the way (perhaps this is the best time to confess that I know very little about the art of makeup. Oh, I was in eighth grade once, too. I can swipe on mascara somewhat evenly, even occasionally a little bit of eye shadow, but god forbid I try anything with blush, and I would be offered a spot in Barnum and Baileys if I even attempted anything beyond chapstick.) So to Sara at Bobbi Brown, you are an artist and you have my heartfelt thanks. Somehow you turned my eyes from shifting hazel to sparkling green, evened my skin tone, and made me feel like I glowed. In fact, I have never been so happy to be so shallowly self-content as you made me Friday night. I’ll be back for a real lesson another time.

A dash home for my necklace from prom, a quick conversation with my dad (who my mom and I both agreed just simply did not understand the situation), and a ride back to Georgetown in the mini van. “No thanks, I think I’ll take a cab to the OAS building, not hop out of the mini van, but thank you for the offer. You were amazing today. I love you”

A dash into my apartment to shimmy into my dress, being careful not to smudge my purple and silver “smoky eye”, step into my heels regretfully, twirl for the mirror (maybe more than once) and a dash to the library where I met Julio, my taxi-partner and wonderful company for the evening, for the cab ride down to the Organization of American States building.

A huge, square marble structure, the OAS building was gorgeous, surpassed in elegance only by the inside, where multiple trees stretched to reach the vast, towering ceiling. The plaza downstairs featured a large fountain and benches just meant to seat couples and friends chatting close while the mariachi band’s cheery tunes filtered out from near the double-doors to the sculpture filled gardens.

Double sets of sweeping marble staircases led to the ballroom, where an amazing group played cello and violin adaptations of popular songs and movie themes. The four of us SWP students mingled with other students from different programs, interns, and frankly anyone who would look our way. And we had pretty great food, enjoyed feeling pretty (I speak on behalf of the boys who I didn’t ask, but imagine did like feeling pretty, who doesn’t?), and got to know each other a bit better. What more could an aspiring Disney princess ask for?

As the night drew to a close, the midnight syndrome kicked in a bit. We waited for a while in the cold for a taxi, weaved through the drunken masses back on campus, and in general couldn’t wait to kick off our dress shoes and lie down for a bit. But, instead of giving in and allowing ourselves to collectively turn into sleepy pumpkins, we decided to be college students.

So we got pizza! And ate it in a dorm room at 1:30am, lounging in our formal wear, shoes kicked off, and hair ruffled. And I’ve never felt more like a princess.

Coming Soon to a Theater Near You--Why Haven't I Blogged About This Weekend

I promise I will write of this past weekend soon. There is a lot to write about: a ball, my first day of memorial touring, some musings on friendships, and of course, the inauguration.

However, as I walked down from Georgetown to the Inauguration at 6:30 in the morning (about a 5 mile walk), stood in line for two hours, clapped and screamed enthusiastically, then did it all in reverse to get back at around 5pm, I'm not even going to attempt to blog right now.

I'll write tomorrow. Hopefully my mind, thighs, and sense of humor will be awake then.

Another Work Day, Another Awesome Commute

 My first non-orientation day at my internship was awesome. I sat in on a fascinating lecture, took oodles of pictures, got to meet some really interesting, insightful people, and learned the Russian word for traffic jam—пробка (probka).

I was at work from 8am to 4pm, meaning it has now been over seventeen hours since I woke up, but my day has left me exhilarated and eager to share my experiences and observations with all of you. Unfortunately, I’m not sure yet exactly how much I can share for now, so until I receive permission, you can look forward to playful behavioral observations, new friendships, and some heavy political questions.

So for today, I’ll take you along on my commute. It begins at six when I frantically scramble to silence my cell phone alarm before completely waking my roommate, Mary Jo. Then it’s a full two minutes of shivering in the shower, as none of the other students in my apartment block have used hot water, so it needs to warm up (both literally and figuratively). Then once I’m lobster red and somewhat awake, this morning with the aide of shampoo in my sleepy eyes, it’s out and into a quick make-up and hair session. Then a jump into my sweater and slack combo (yes, it’s at least business casual every day), a quick fumble in my room for everything—purse, badge, key, notebook, coat. Then out the door—oh! Forgot shoes, okay now out the door.

Clicking and clacking down N street to Wisconsin, I greet dog walkers and the occasional jogger alike while my velveteen wedges hit the bricks, sending echoes off of pastel-colored townhouses. Then onto the bus at Dumbarton and Wisconsin, for a ride to 7^th and SW Jefferson, followed by a rushed walk along 7^th over the National Mall to L’enfant to catch the shuttle.

“Good morning sir, good morning ma’am, how are you doing this morning? Yes, I wish it would clear up. Oh, we’re getting some snow tomorrow? Wow, better hope it doesn’t affect the inauguration. Mind if I sit here? Thank you.”

A bumpy ride down to the Potomac waterfront, and I have arrived. Through the scanner, “hello ma’am how are you doing today? Oh, I’m just fine, thank you for asking. Have a great day!” Then up to my office to learn what I’ll be doing on my first real day.

At four pm, it’s the reverse. A more subdued shuttle ride, then a relaxed stroll across the mall to catch my 36 bus. With no real rush, and protesting feet, sometimes even relaxed is too strong of a word to describe my molasses-like pace crossing the wide zebra-marked crosswalks of Constitution and Pennsylvania Avenues. But my lead-footed plod breeds remarkable prizes.

I look over the crowd control barriers in one direction and could see the Capitol, in the other the Washington Monument. To my left is the Smithsonian building, still beautiful even in the midst of construction and renovations. As I continue, I take a short detour through the Sculpture Garden, which has had its central fountain turned into an ice skating rink where children, and one very graceful man, were twirling, daring to skate backwards, and laughing in the cold air. A little bit further along, a beautiful view of the glass-fronted Newseum with its prominent inaugural-banners.  And then across from my bus stop, the imposing, statuesque National Archives, impressive despite the bleachers placed in front of its four statues marking the future, past, heritage, and guardianship.

This city is sometimes overly steeped in history, politics, and self-importance, pressing down the yoke of expectations, connections, and nepotism upon your shoulders. But it’s a certain type of wonderful to be able to take in global iconic sites during my daily commute. With such a connection to one of the hearts of today’s world, how could I help but to be rejuvenated, inspired, and empowered?

If it was hard to get the visual from my description, here are a few photos I took on my way home:

On my right, the Washington Monument

On my left, the Capitol

My favorite sculpture at the Sculpture Garden (lamp post not included)

The National Archives.